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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22725946">Now, Then, Always</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/1863/pseuds/1863'>1863</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>John Wick (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Developing Relationship, Loyalty, M/M, Temporary Character Death, Time Loop</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 16:29:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,351</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22725946</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/1863/pseuds/1863</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>What should be a simple case of blackmail turns into something a lot more complicated.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Avi/Viggo Tarasov</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Chocolate Box - Round 5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Now, Then, Always</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverwinterThistle/gifts">NeverwinterThistle</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>--- V ---</strong>
</p><p>Avi’s eyes refocus slowly: a row of bottles, an exposed brick wall, a slab of black marble. </p><p>“Well,” he mutters. “This is some bullshit.”</p><p>“What is?” </p><p>Viggo looks over at him from the other side of the bar, where he’s pouring them shots of vodka. Just like he did the last time, and the time before that, and the two other times before that one, too.</p><p>“Nothing,” Avi lies. </p><p>Out of habit he reaches up and touches his chest, even though he doesn’t expect his fingers to come away bloody anymore. His other hand is clutching his phone and in a little while, the text message alert will start blinking, a tiny dot of red light flashing on and off, on and off. </p><p>“Nothing I can’t take care of, anyway,” he adds. His voice is surprisingly confident considering he knows exactly how empty his words are.</p><p>Viggo just looks amused. “Of course,” he says, sliding a tumbler of vodka across the bar. “Why else would I keep you around?” </p><p>If there’s any hidden meaning there, Avi can’t find one. And god knows he’s looked – four times already at least, and that’s not even counting all the months and years that led up to whatever the fuck is happening now.</p><p>“Exactly,” Avi agrees, forcing the word out, and forcing his mouth to stretch into an answering smile. “Whenever you need a quick fix, Viggo,” he says, “I’m your go-to guy.”</p><p>
  <strong>--- III ---</strong>
</p><p>He figures it out pretty fast. </p><p>Back in the bar, no hole in his chest, Viggo going through the motions in the exact same way he did before. Then his phone will blink with a new text from an unidentified number, a text that Avi knows will contain a 6-figure demand and the address of a nameless, private brothel that very few people even know exists. And tomorrow he’ll get another text, one with a link to a series of photos that were taken the night before – or more accurately, that will be taken <em>tonight</em>.Extensive, detailed photos, of Viggo and some guy with a sly smirk and an underwear model’s body; a body that Viggo very obviously knows how to use. </p><p>Avi had never seen the guy before all this started but now it’s face he’ll never, ever forget. Not least because it’s the last one he laid eyes on before he came to again, here in the bar again, Viggo pouring drinks again.</p><p>(and again and again and again and –)</p><p>Avi’s done a lot of stupid things in his life. This whole Russian mob thing for one, and that’s not even touching on whatever the hell he ended up doing (did?) with Viggo behind closed doors. But he’s always been quick on the uptake and now, third time unlucky, he recognises exactly what kind of shitshow he’s stuck in.</p><p>Sure, he could be hallucinating, or dreaming, or even just straight up dead and in some twisted version of hell – after all, he’s not naive enough to think he’s got any kind of shot at getting into the other place. </p><p>But none of that changes the fact that Avi is, above all else, a professional. He has a job to do, the same one he’s had for years; the job he’s done with ruthless efficiency ever since Viggo did the unthinkable and gave him a measure of power that, theoretically, should never have been offered in the first place. Not Russian, can’t speak the language, can barely even use a gun… but Avi proved his worth, through skill and brains and sheer, bloody-minded loyalty and whatever else happens, there’s at least one thing that’s set in stone: when Avi has a job to do, he’ll fucking do it until it’s done. </p><p>Even when he knows that in a couple of days, he’ll probably get shot point-blank in the chest again. </p><p>(and again and again and again and –)</p><p>
  <strong>--- I ---</strong>
</p><p>Direct confrontation seems like the most prudent response. </p><p>A hit would be pointless – shooting the messenger just makes it harder to find who sent the message. And there’s definitely another layer beyond whoever sent the text and took the photos; there’s no way anyone with the skill to put this little blackmail attempt together neglected to put certain contingency plans in place. Plans that no doubt include ensuring those photos would leak if, say, the back of their head happens to meet one of Kirill’s perfectly-aimed bullets.</p><p>No, Avi muses, scrolling through the photos on his phone again. Better to trap the messenger and... <em>coerce</em> the information out, before tasking his crew with a full clean up once he’s got the lay of the land. And no need to bother Viggo with it either, he thinks, stopping at a particular photo that makes him take a deep, deep breath. </p><p>It’s not even the most explicit one – whoever took them must have telephoto lenses that rival fucking TMZ, because there are close-ups that show Viggo in ways even Avi’s never seen before. But it’s this photo that hit him the hardest, the first time he went through them all. And he did go through them, every single fucking one, carefully and methodically to make sure he didn’t miss any potential clues as to who might be trying to blackmail them. </p><p>This is the photo that makes his grip tighten around his phone now, the one that makes him feel a strange, grim satisfaction even as something else he doesn’t want to name bubbles up beneath the surface of it.</p><p>Avi’s always known that Viggo still goes to the pros now and then; that’s not what bothers him about this. Fucking is fucking, after all, and they both know the risks if the two of them ever get caught. No, the thing that gets to Avi is that he’s also known, always, that some things are just inevitable. Death and taxes, as the old saying goes, and this – staring at this specific picture and feeling this specific way – is another.</p><p>Viggo’s leaning over the bed, shirt still half-on, and he’s smiling. Not grinning, or laughing, or smirking – just smiling. Like he’s genuinely enjoying himself, like he’s amused, like he’s actually <em>fond</em> of the little fucker who –</p><p>Avi takes another deep breath. <em>It’s none of your fucking business</em>, he reminds himself, <em>and it’s not what you get paid for. </em></p><p>What he does get paid for, essentially, is making problems go away. Especially the kind that Viggo doesn’t need to know about – things that aren’t so small that someone further down the line can’t take care of it themselves, and things that aren’t so big that he needs Viggo’s permission or help. And yeah, this would be pretty fucking big if it ever does get out – disastrously big, career-ending and reputation-destroying and, worst of all for a man like Viggo Tarasov, humiliating to boot.</p><p>But it won’t get out. It’s <em>never</em> getting out, because regardless of whatever this photo makes him feel – or how it changes what he thought he wanted, or ever hoped he’d have – Avi knows that one thing, at least, has never been in doubt.</p><p>He’s really, <em>really</em> fucking good at his job.</p><p>
  <strong>--- VIII ---</strong>
</p><p>“Okay, so direct confrontation’s out,” Avi mutters to himself, pacing the terrace and lighting another cigarette. “Bribes don’t work, they’re not doing it for the money… no time to get them framed or sue for libel, either.” He takes a drag and rubs his temple, mind racing, discarding possible solutions almost as fast as he comes up with them.</p><p>Two days, two days… if he had more time this would be a piece of cake, the kind of thing he could take care of in his sleep. Blackmail like this is amateur hour, child’s play, and Avi’s played the game for years. Gold coins might be the Table’s most obvious currency but for people like Avi, the <em>real</em> fortune – and their true stock-in-trade – is something a lot harder to come by: information, and the means to get it. And Avi’s fortune is vast and deep.</p><p>There’s no one in this city he doesn’t have dirt on. There are favours he can cash in, and secrets he can trade, and services he can offer to the highest bidder. But he barely has two days and half of that is gone already, what with Viggo insisting on him staying for drinks and then dinner and he just doesn’t have the time to work this with his usual finesse. </p><p>And yet, the only thing the direct approach gets him a bullet in the goddamn chest. </p><p>“Okay, enough.” </p><p>Avi glances up, startled. Viggo steps onto the terrace and slides the door shut behind him. </p><p>“Too many cigarettes, endless pacing, an apparent headache…” Viggo stalks closer and raises an eyebrow, half-amused, half-serious. “I recognise the signs, Avi. Just tell me this – do I need to know the details?”</p><p>Avi takes another drag from his cigarette, stalling for time. “If you did, you’d have them by now. Trust me,” he adds, “it’s nothing I can’t handle.” </p><p>“I do,” Viggo replies, and steps closer. “Trust you, that is.” </p><p>The photo of Viggo smiling flashes in Avi’s mind and he freezes suddenly, the cigarette halfway to his lips. <em>Not with everything</em>, he doesn’t say. <em>Not with –</em></p><p>He doesn’t let himself finish the thought and goes to stub out the cigarette instead. For some reason, the taste of it in his mouth is making him vaguely nauseous now. </p><p>“Don’t.” Viggo’s fingers close around his wrist. “Don’t waste it.” </p><p>Avi stares at him. “Don’t waste what?”</p><p>“The cigarette.” Viggo frowns a little. “You’ve barely smoked it,” he adds, and slowly tightens his grip. Avi feels his pulse pounding against Viggo’s fingers, too hard and too fast and giving away secrets he’s not prepared to tell.</p><p>“You can have it,” Avi says, ignoring the way Viggo’s frown deepens when he doesn’t just come clean and admit that something’s wrong. “If you want it.” </p><p>Viggo shakes his head. “Tell me what you need, Avi,” he replies. “Cash? Resources?” He pauses for a moment. “The Baba Yaga, perhaps?” </p><p>“I don’t need anything from you, Viggo.” </p><p>From the way Viggo goes still, Avi's pretty sure he can tell that it might be an answer to more than one question. He manages to dredge up a smile anyway but the look on Viggo’s face tells him it’s not very convincing. </p><p>“I'm fine on my own,” he adds. Avi lifts his arm, Viggo’s hand still tight around his wrist, and offers up the cigarette again. “Better take it before it burns away to nothing,” he says. “Unless nothing is what you wanted to begin with?”</p><p>Viggo doesn’t answer, but he takes the cigarette all the same. </p><p>
  <strong>--- X ---</strong>
</p><p>Two days a round and nine rounds through... Jesus, Avi thinks. He’s been going through this for 18 days. Nearly three weeks, the better part of a month, and he’s not any closer to finding a way out. </p><p>He is, however, getting closer to just not caring. After all, there’s only so many times he can work his ass off on a problem and end up shot in the chest, before his sense of determination starts to falter.</p><p>“You’re unusually quiet tonight.”</p><p>Avi looks up from the drink in his hand. Viggo is watching him with narrowed eyes but he won’t push, Avi knows, not about this. Mob business, sure – new contracts, open cases, the latest High Table gossip – Viggo would have no qualms about demanding answers there. This, though? This is something they’ve never discussed out loud, openly or otherwise. Avi used to think it was just Viggo being careful – you can’t deny something you’ve never confirmed exists – but now, tenth loop in and counting, he’s starting to think it might be something else altogether.</p><p>“Am I?” he asks.</p><p>Avi thinks about all the attempts he’s already made, all the careful preparation and clever planning, and all of it amounting to jack shit. The thing is, Avi’s always thought of himself as clever – it’s how he got into the Ivy League despite not having a dime to his name; how he got into the Bratva despite not speaking a word of Russian. And yet, for all his cleverness, every attempt has ended in the exact same way – which is to say, they never got him an ending at all. </p><p>“Yes,” Viggo replies. “You are.”</p><p>Avi shrugs. “Guess I’m just a little… worn out.”</p><p>Viggo eyeballs him over the rim of his glass. </p><p>“I was under the impression that your caseload was quite light at the moment,” he says. “If you need help, one of the junior associates can –”</p><p>“How do you know?” Avi knocks back the rest of his drink in a single, burning swallow. “How do you know what will help me?” He puts the glass down and stares blankly at his hands for a moment before looking up again. “Why would you even want to?” </p><p>Viggo doesn’t answer right away, taking a slow sip of his own vodka instead. The look on his face is very carefully blank – the way he always looks when they accidentally skirt too close to things he can’t, or won’t, admit to. </p><p>The physical part is easy – or at least, it became easy once they figured out they were both on the same page. Just lips and tongue, and hands and fingers, and straightforward, mutual need. It’s simple biology, just cause and effect, and it’s what let Avi shrug off the knowledge that sometimes, Viggo got those needs taken care of by someone else.</p><p>But he’s been through this shit nine times already and Avi has never been one for self-denial. He can’t be, not when he works in an environment where a lack of self-awareness has potentially lethal consequences. It can take him a while sometimes, it’s true, but this particular truth is about as subtle as a punch in the face. Or a bullet to the heart. </p><p>He’s been sent those photos nine times over and he goes through them every single time. And every time, it’s always that one specific picture that makes him pause – not the one where Viggo’s got someone’s head bobbing between his legs; not the one where he’s naked and kneeling behind a sculpted body that’s on all fours. </p><p>It’s the one where Viggo is smiling a smile that Avi assumed, for whatever reason, was only for him.</p><p>“On second thought,” Avi says, “don’t answer that.” He scrubs a hand over his face and sighs; he hadn’t been lying before, he really is exhausted. <em>No beard</em>, he thinks absently. At least his body isn’t being affected by this… whatever it is. Everything else, though –</p><p>“What if I want to?” Viggo asks.</p><p>Avi shakes his head. </p><p>“Believe me, you don’t.” He laughs a little and it sounds hollow even to his own ears. “You want to know why?” </p><p>Viggo’s voice is quiet. “Why?” </p><p>“Because you’d be lying, Viggo. And then you’d know that<em> I</em> know, and things that used to be easy will turn into things that…” Avi trails off. “That aren’t, anymore.” </p><p>There’s silence for a heartbeat, then two and three. </p><p>“You seem very certain,” Viggo says eventually, “of things that haven’t even happened yet.” </p><p>“Yeah,” Avi agrees, and holds out his glass for another round. “Funny, that.”</p><p>
  <strong>--- XIV ---</strong>
</p><p>“I’ve always thought Kirill was kind of hot.”</p><p>Viggo slowly turns to face him. “Excuse me?”</p><p>“You heard me.” Framed by the wooden arcs of the shelf behind him and haloed with lights from the bar, Viggo looks strangely surreal – like a medieval painting, Avi thinks, of some kind of martyr, or some kind of saint. The thought makes him smile and Viggo looks even more nonplussed when he sees it. “He’s pretty hot, don’t you think?” </p><p>Viggo opens his mouth to say something, then seems to decide against it. </p><p>“I’d fuck him,” Avi adds. Viggo just stares at him. “Or, you know. Let him fuck me. That seems more his style, really.”</p><p>“Avi,” Viggo says, after a long, long pause. “Are you feeling all right?”</p><p>“Perfectly fine. Downright peachy, in fact.” He lifts a hand and rubs at his chest; imagines he can feel the phantom pain of ten, twelve, thirteen bullets ripping right through his heart. He isn’t sure how many more he can take so he figures he might as well do whatever the fuck he wants to now – it’s not like any of this is going to matter. “How about you, Viggo?”</p><p>He gets a frown for that, one that Avi could almost believe is edged with concern. </p><p>“What about me?” Viggo asks.</p><p>Avi just laughs a little and lights a cigarette. One of Viggo’s cigarettes, actually, from the box Avi always keeps in his own suit jacket – the box that’s specifically for Viggo and Viggo alone. </p><p>“Would you fuck Kirill, too?”</p><p>“Avi –”</p><p>“He must have a better body than I do,” Avi interrupts, blowing a cloud of smoke right into Viggo’s face. “Military training and all that. You like that, don’t you?” He looks Viggo in the eye and grins. “Hard bodies, square jaws. That sort of thing?” </p><p>Something like anger darkens Viggo’s eyes and Avi feels a stab of bitter satisfaction. <em>Good</em>, he thinks. <em>Get angry, Viggo. Get fucking livid. Put the bullet in me yourself this time and save your boytoy the trouble.</em></p><p>“Bet he’s got skilled hands, too,” Avi adds. “Bet he’s a fucking <em>pro</em>.” </p><p>“I don’t know what’s gotten into you,” Viggo says at length, “or what makes you think I harbour any kind of – any kind of <em>anything</em> for Kirill, but –”</p><p>“Your son’s a piece of shit, by the way.” Viggo actually gapes for a second and Avi just laughs again; that there might be a trace of hysteria in it just makes him laugh even harder. “He’s a useless, petty, dumb piece of shit and I’ll never understand how someone as stupid as that came from someone like you. But then again,” he adds thoughtfully, “I can see where the lack of a spine comes from, at least.”</p><p>Avi watches with interest as Viggo visibly forces himself to stay calm. Why he’s even bothering to rein it in is lost on Avi; he’s seen Viggo lose it over far smaller things.</p><p>Eventually, Viggo reaches over and plucks the cigarette from his hand. He takes a deep drag before holding it out again.</p><p>“Is this jealousy, Avi?” he asks. His voice is quiet, dangerously so. “Insecurity about your place? This is not the kind of behaviour I expected from you.”</p><p>“Of course you didn’t expect it.” Avi smiles, sharp enough that he feels it cutting into his own chest. “After all, you know just how much I <em>love </em>taking it up the ass.” </p><p>For once, Viggo seems at a total loss for words. His arm is still outstretched, however, still waiting for Avi to take the cigarette back, and Avi stares at it for a moment before he grins again and shakes his head. </p><p>“Joke’s on me though, isn’t it?” He turns and heads for the door, not waiting for a response. “Because no matter what happens, I still keep coming back.”</p><p>
  <strong>--- XIX ---</strong>
</p><p>He’s starting to lose count now. Whether that’s due to the number of times he’s gone through this or the bottle of vodka in his hands, though, is anyone’s guess.</p><p>“Fucking Viggo,” Avi says, slurring a little. “Fucking Russian mob, fucking – fucking <em>High Table</em>.” </p><p>He takes a swig from the bottle and is annoyed to find that it’s empty. He really should’ve swiped another one from Viggo’s bar yesterday, after he came to again. Avi hadn’t even said anything that time, just ignored Viggo completely as he grabbed a random bottle and left without a word. After a brief, puzzled protest, Viggo hadn’t tried to stop him.</p><p>“Fuck Viggo and fuck the High Table.” Avi nods to himself and the whole room spins. “Some High Table magic bullshit, that’s what this is. Some woo-woo mumbo jumbo. Well, fuck it.” He puts his head down on the table and closes his eyes. “Fuck all of it. I’m fucking done.” </p><p>He doesn’t even flinch when the door bursts open, doesn’t open his eyes when he’s shoved to the floor and kicked square in the face. And then the barrel of gun is shoved hard against his chest, and Avi can’t help himself now – he laughs, because if nothing else it at least means that this will be over soon. Again. </p><p>He thinks of the scrape of stubble against his jaw; of the sound of breathless, whispered Russian against his skin. Thinks of the taste of tattoos on his tongue and the feeling of hard, heavy heat in his hands; of that same heat moving against him, pressing into him, opening him up and breaking him down and –</p><p>Avi hears the click of a trigger being cocked, and he – he <em>remembers</em>. Not this time, no, but last time, maybe? Or maybe it was the time before that. It doesn’t really matter – he remembers the look on Viggo’s face anyway, when he realised there was no way out. That the end had finally come for him and a bullet in the brain was its form; that there was nothing more he could do but accept the inevitable. Viggo had looked at him, then. Looked at him and smiled, and now Avi remembers something else, too: a different smile on Viggo’s lips, the smile in the photo with the model-perfect callboy. </p><p>The callboy who, at this very moment, has a gun aimed right at his heart. Avi resists the urge to laugh again.</p><p>
  <em>Fucking Viggo.</em>
</p><p>The gun fires, the bullet does its job. </p><p>A bottle of vodka, it turns out, does nothing to dull the pain.</p><p>
  <strong>--- XV ---</strong>
</p><p>He should’ve known that Viggo would take matters into his own hands. </p><p>Avi tells him, this time – tells him everything. About the photos, the blackmail, even the insanity of the repeated loops, and whether or not Viggo believes that last part makes no real difference – his jaw still goes tight with anger and his voice goes quiet with rage. </p><p>Viggo insists on going after them himself, wants to be the one who intimidates and interrogates and eventually fires the gun. Avi knows that for the most part, Viggo is content to let other people do the dirty work for him – such are the perks of being the head of the Bratva – but he also knows there are times when Viggo misses being on the front line. When it’s personal, when it’s private, when it’s a direct insult to him or anyone he considers a friend  – that’s when Viggo insists on taking care of things with his own bare hands. </p><p>There’s a certain hunger in his eyes now as he prepares for the attack. Weapons are chosen, a plan is formed, and it seems like hardly any time at all before Viggo is ready to leave. </p><p>“Are you sure you don’t want to bring Kirill?” Avi asks again.</p><p>“This stays between us,” Viggo replies.</p><p>“Look, I know it’s a… delicate situation, but I can’t believe that Kirill would ever –”</p><p>“He would not tell anyone,” Viggo interrupts. “I know that. But this is my problem to fix.” He glances over and something flickers in his eyes, there and gone before Avi can decide whether it’s anger, or – maybe – regret. “My <em>mistake </em>to fix,” he corrects himself. </p><p>“You couldn’t have known the guy was going to try to blackmail you,” Avi says. “He was vetted, the whole place was, and you’re always careful to –”</p><p>“Avi.” Viggo stares at him for a moment. “That is – this is not –” He stops, suddenly, and takes a deep breath. “You don’t have to join me. I can handle this myself.”</p><p>“Yeah, maybe,” Avi agrees. “But I’m coming with you anyway.” </p><p>
***
</p><p>It ends in disaster, of course. At this point, Avi’s not even that surprised – but that doesn’t mean he’s any more prepared for what’s about to happen.</p><p>Viggo’s eyes are calm as the barrel of a gun is pressed against the back of his head. He’s staring right at Avi, not even blinking, like he’s trying to commit every line, every hair, every inch of Avi’s face to memory. </p><p>“Perhaps I should have brought Kirill with us after all,” he says, and smiles a little.</p><p>Avi swallows hard. “Viggo,” he starts, but finds he has no idea what else to say. </p><p>“Avi, listen to me.” A hint of urgency tightens Viggo’s voice. “Turn away, <em>родной</em>. Don’t watch, don’t look. I’m –”</p><p>But Viggo doesn’t get the chance to finish, and Avi doesn’t get the chance to turn away.</p><p>
  <strong>--- XXI ---</strong>
</p><p>No need to wait for his eyes to refocus anymore: Avi knows exactly where he is. And <em>when</em> he is, too.</p><p>He puts both hands on the bar, palms down, and pushes his phone aside. The marble is cool against his skin and he resists the urge to lay his head against it, to just close his eyes again and give up before he’s even started. He did that once before and nothing changed. </p><p>Still, it’s tempting. <em>One break</em>, Avi thinks a little desperately, <em>just give me one little break</em>. Just one short respite, and then he’ll get up and do his job again. Even if the outcome is always the same. </p><p>“Avi?”</p><p>He tries to get it together enough to reply but he can barely manage breathing; forming actual words is beyond him right now. Already his pulse is racing, heart beating wildly in his chest. He knows it’s only a matter of time before yet another bullet makes it stop beating altogether.</p><p>“Avi.”</p><p>Viggo’s voice is much closer now, closer and much, much quieter. A hand settles against the back of Avi’s neck, warm and reassuring and painfully familiar, and Avi does close his eyes this time, not wanting to give into it and make this even harder than it already is. </p><p>Fingers graze his jaw, sweeping up to trace the curve of his cheekbone.</p><p>“Avi –”</p><p>“Stop.” </p><p>Avi straightens up and forces his eyes open. There’s a puzzled frown on Viggo’s face but there’s something deeper and darker in his eyes, shadows of thoughts Avi can’t decipher.</p><p>“Stop what?” Viggo asks. When Avi doesn’t answer, Viggo shakes his head. “Are you going to tell me what the problem is, or should I just ask Francis to take you home?” </p><p>“I did tell you. Once before.” Avi swallows thickly. “The only difference it made was that you got shot too. Bullet to the back of the head, execution style. I watched it come out right here.” He taps the centre of Viggo’s forehead with a fingertip. “I was right next to you when it happened, you know. Got it in the face, actually. All the –” Avi swallows again and tastes bile at the back of his throat; closes his eyes again and feels the hot splash of blood and bone and gore against his cheek. “All the stuff inside that infuriating head of yours.” </p><p>Viggo doesn’t reply but he does reach out again – Avi feels the heat of his hands, hovering at either side of his head. They descend, eventually, cupping the back of his neck but not pulling him any closer. </p><p>His heart is beating even faster now, so fast he wonders if he might be in danger of cardiac arrest. And wouldn’t that be fucking ironic, he thinks, almost laughing at the thought. Surviving 20 point-blank gunshots to the chest only for his heart to just give up all on its own.</p><p>“You… you dreamed this?” Viggo asks. There’s a strangely brittle quality to his voice that Avi’s never heard in it before; not quite uncertainty, but not quite the opposite, either.</p><p>“No,” Avi says, and opens his eyes. </p><p>“I don’t understand –”</p><p>Avi leans forward and kisses him. Just a press of lips at first, dry and simple and chaste, but after a brief moment where he goes still with surprise, Viggo’s fingers curl, nails digging into the nape of Avi’s neck, and his mouth curves into a small smile. And of all the things that Avi has gone through and all the times he’s had to go through them, it seems fitting that this is the thing that finally breaks him: Viggo’s smile. Like the one in the photo, Avi thinks, but this one really is for him alone. Pressed flush against his mouth now, so close and so intimate that no camera lens, no matter how good, could ever steal the secrets it may or may not be trying to tell.</p><p>Avi grabs Viggo by the head and drags him closer, opens his mouth wider, kisses him the way he’s wanted to for <em>years </em>– full-force and brutally honest and nothing held back. It’s hard and frantic and more than a little desperate, violent even, and his hands are shaking against Viggo’s face as he steps around and pushes Viggo into the edge of the bar. </p><p>“Let me,” he pants against Viggo’s open mouth, “please, please, just let me –” </p><p>And when Viggo makes no protest and just kisses him again – carefully, this time, forcing the pace to slow down – Avi knows that Viggo can tell that something is wrong, that something about it is different this time. </p><p>Avi knows that Viggo can taste his fear. </p><p>“I’m not going to break,” he almost says, then remembers that actually, he just <em>did</em>. </p><p>
  ***
</p><p>It takes a little while before Avi realises what’s wrong.</p><p>He blinks awake in near-darkness, only just able to make out the vague shapes of a dresser and an armchair before he feels the bed beneath him shift. And then an arm settles around his waist, warm and not at all familiar – or expected, despite knowing that he isn’t in his own bed. Avi goes from half-asleep to wide awake in the space between one heartbeat and the next.</p><p><em>Viggo’s arm</em>, he thinks blankly.<em> That’s Viggo’s arm. </em>This is Viggo’s bed. This is –</p><p>This is the morning after the start of the loop. He should have gotten a text last night and a second one this morning, a text with a link to the photos of Viggo and his – </p><p>Avi grabs his phone from the nightstand and turns it on. No new texts. None. </p><p>“I’m out,” he whispers. “I’m out, it’s broken, I’m fucking <em>out</em> –”</p><p>A muffled stream of Russian cuts him off, stubble scratching at his shoulder.</p><p>“English, Viggo,” he says automatically, even though he isn’t actually sure he wants a translation this time.</p><p>There’s a huff of irritation against the back of his neck. </p><p>“I <em>said</em>,” Viggo starts, voice still rough with sleep, “that whatever it is you’re talking about, Avi, it can wait until later.” The arm around his waist tightens, as though emphasising the point. “For god’s sake, sunrise is still at least an hour away.”</p><p>“Can I,” Avi begins, forcing the words out before they can stick in his throat. “Can I stay here? To sleep,” he adds quickly, when Viggo's arm tenses up a little. “Just until the sun comes up.”</p><p>It's a while before Viggo answers, and Avi feels every second of it. But Viggo’s palm is warm against his stomach, warm and heavy – like an anchor, Avi thinks, holding him in place and keeping him steady. Maybe, even, steady in time.</p><p>“Of course,” Viggo says, eventually. “But I think, perhaps, that I was mistaken.” He takes a slow, deep breath, one that presses him flush against Avi’s back. “Sunrise may not be for a long time yet.” </p><p>Avi closes his eyes and holds himself very still.</p><p>“You sure about that?” he asks.</p><p>The answer, when it comes, is as quiet as it is absolutely, undeniably certain – words whispered for just one person to hear, for one particular reason, to answer just one, specific question. </p><p>“Yes, Avi.” Viggo’s lips brush the back of his neck. “I’m sure.”</p><p>
  ***
</p><p>“We drinking to anything in particular tonight?” Avi asks. </p><p>He settles down in his usual chair at the bar, then lights his usual cigarette as Viggo hands over the usual shot of vodka in a cut crystal glass. All things they've done a hundred times by now – except that this time, Viggo is shirtless under a loosely-tied robe and Avi’s in nothing but boxers and an undershirt. Neither of them have left the apartment all day. </p><p>Viggo glances at him and raises a glass to his lips. </p><p>“Some occasion we should mark, you mean?” Viggo shrugs, deliberately casual. “I can’t think of anything new about today that wasn’t true yesterday.” </p><p>The glass hides most of his face as he sips at his drink, but his eyes are bright as he watches Avi over the rim. </p><p>Yesterday, Avi thinks. For him, yesterday was over a month ago. And the whole time, all he’d wanted was a way out, a chance to return to the status quo. But now, sitting with Viggo at the bar in his underwear, Viggo’s eyes still on him as he tries to think of a response – he knows that that was a lie. </p><p>Avi lowers his head for a moment. He stares down at the burning end of his cigarette and knows he’s out of the loop now, that Viggo choosing to stay at home last night – to stay with <em>him</em> – prevented the trip to the brothel, which in turn prevented the photos that led to the attempted blackmail. But there’s a part of him that’s still on edge, still half-expecting that this new status quo will come to a sudden end too.</p><p>And it still could, Avi realises. Any time Viggo goes back to that nameless place, or any other one like it, the risk is there. Any time Viggo tries to get what he needs from someone else who isn't – </p><p>Avi looks up again. Viggo is still watching him but says nothing, just sips at his vodka like he doesn’t really expect to get an answer. But when Avi stays silent, Viggo looks away, suddenly, and pours himself another, much larger drink. And that’s when Avi realises – he’s not wrong about this, but he’s not exactly right, either. </p><p>Viggo doesn’t expect an answer. But he’s still waiting for one all the same. </p><p>Avi remembers the look on Viggo’s face before he’d been shot in the head; remembers the sound of his voice when he told him to look away.</p><p>Maybe Viggo’s been waiting for an answer all along.</p><p>“God, we’re stupid,” Avi murmurs.</p><p>Viggo meets his gaze again and raises an eyebrow. It would be so easy, Avi thinks, to go back to the way things used to be – to just say something flippant or non-committal, or even just not respond at all. For one thing, life would be a lot less complicated that way, not to mention a lot less dangerous, too. </p><p>But Avi gave up that life 20 times over, took bullet after bullet and endured failure after failure and now, with that life finally within reach again, Avi knows that it’s not the life he wants. And neither, apparently, does Viggo. </p><p>“You know,” Avi starts. “I’ve been hearing some things about that place uptown.” He takes a drag of his cigarette. “The one with no name.”</p><p>Viggo doesn’t react, but his voice is a little too even when he asks, “Things? What kind of things?” </p><p>Avi tosses back the rest of his drink. If there was ever a time he could use a little Dutch courage, it’s now. “I heard it’s maybe not as secure as it used to be.” </p><p>“Is that so?” Viggo asks slowly. “They’ve been in business for decades, you know. How unfortunate for its patrons.” </p><p>“I mean,” Avi adds quickly, a sudden wave of doubt crashing over him, “I could do a little digging, maybe. Help them find out where the problem might be –”</p><p>“No.” Viggo looks him right in the eye. “That won’t be necessary.” </p><p>Avi sucks in a breath. “Oh?”</p><p>“Times change,” Viggo says. “And what they provide, perhaps, is no longer required.” </p><p>He finishes off his drink and reaches for the pack of cigarettes on the bar, but goes still when Avi touches his wrist. </p><p>Wordlessly, Avi holds out his own cigarette instead. </p><p>“No longer required, huh?” Avi asks, as Viggo accepts the offer and takes a deep drag. </p><p>“They’re a little old-fashioned,” Viggo says. “Stuck in the past, set in their ways. Not to mention that they’re on the other side of the city.” He shrugs a little. “Perhaps something more… satisfying, can be found elsewhere,” he adds. “Somewhere a little closer to home.”</p><p>Viggo hands the cigarette back. Their fingers brush as Avi takes it, and when Viggo’s hand lingers, fingertips brushing over the inside of his wrist and up along his forearm, Avi has to close his eyes, an intense rush of something he can’t name washing over him. Viggo is touching him for no discernable reason – not in the midst of sex, or incidentally in public, or accidentally when they’re distracted by something else. Viggo is touching him now, Avi realises, just because he wants to. Just because he can.</p><p>Avi opens his eyes again.</p><p>A row of bottles, an exposed brick wall, a slab of black marble. And in the midst of it all is Viggo, watching him with a guarded smile in his eyes – a smile that Avi knows with absolute certainty that no one else would be able to see. </p><p>"Closer to home?" he repeats. He hesitates, watching Viggo watching him, but not for very long. Avi clears his throat. "You mean like midtown, right?" </p><p>He manages to keep a straight face, right up until the moment when the smile in Viggo’s eyes turns into a full-blown, full-face grin. And then Avi’s laughing, and Viggo’s shaking his head, and their fingers tangle around the single, shared cigarette in their hands. </p><p>“Closer than that, perhaps,” Viggo says, "should fortune smile upon us." Then he adds, almost too quietly to hear, “<em>Родной</em>.” </p><p>For once, Avi doesn’t ask him to translate. Whatever it means, he’s pretty sure he can figure it out for himself. </p><p>He just needs a little time. </p>
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